


What Could Have Been...

by clauth



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Canon, Blood and Violence, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Gen, Introspection, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, fluff start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23590669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clauth/pseuds/clauth
Summary: How much would Prince Dimitri's life change had he simply let a Black Eagle into his life (and into his supports)? What would it take for Linhardt Von Hevring's penchant for inertia to be cast aside? Would it for another?Would it for Dimitri and his gentle heart, even as it shattered?You have unlocked a secret support chain in Azure Moon. It may affect the main story. Do you wish to proceed?
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Linhardt von Hevring, Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Dorothea Arnault/Linhardt von Hevring, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 66





	1. C Support

**Author's Note:**

> The prince had never interacted with one of the Black Eagles for very long, though with this week's library duty, that was about to change.

"Linhardt."

"...Yes?"

"Could you tell me where this book is supposed to go?"

He takes a single glance at what Dimitri's holding and returns to his book. "By the entrance... second shelf on the left, third row from the top down. No! Fourth row. I always forget."

The prince seems a little dumbfounded at the answer as he traces his classmate's directions. "Second on the left... The th- fourth..."

"Oh, and it's sorted by title, not by author. Though you've probably already noticed."

"I did not, actually..."

"Well there you go."

When Dimitri manages to put the Traveller's Journal: Volume 2 back in its rightful place, a few thoughts emerge in his mind. How well does his classmate know this library? Why hasn't Linhardt picked up a single book,  _ besides the one he's reading _ , since they've arrived? And could Dimitri carry - and shelve into its proper location - more than three books at once? Tempting questions, all of them, though he could only ask one at a time. The assignment takes priority.

Linhardt seems to notice Dimitri's halted his task. "I would be careful with this next pile. They're Crest documents, and Professor Hanneman would turn pale should a single page be folded or torn out. I have to say, I understand their importance, but these tomes are considered really basic rese-"

"Linhardt, there are a lot of books here. Would you mind lending me a hand?" Dimitri interrupts his rant, only slightly annoyed as he extends his hand to the piles of books yet sorted. Is this how Seteth felt when he lectured Hilda? The prince's voice had somewhat shifted to that begrudging patience of his.

All Linhardt does is raise an eyebrow, eyes glued to the book still. "Well I certainly  _ could! _ , but you're already doing so well! My guidance is all you need, Your Highness."

"I am not sure you understand. Look at this pile! Please, if we want to finish this in time for supper, all you have to do is-"

"With your unparalleled physical ability, you could also afford to carry more than one book at a time, Your Highness. That alone would likely ensure that-"

"I will  **NOT** do your part of the task for you, Linhardt." The prince snaps, a certain fervor in his tongue he's put aside for some time but could no longer ignore.

Linhardt simply yawns in response, ever so softly rubbing an eye. "Of course not, Your Highness, because I am already doing it! Where would you be without my direction?" 

Then he finally looks up at Dimitri and a bit of a smirk takes over his face. "If you don't mind being lectured by the Professor later on how the books were all misplaced and you shouldn't have tried to put them back in the first place, please, be my guest."

"H-How can you sit there doing nothing when there is work to be done?!" The prince retorts, incredulous at his attitude. Oh, his attitude...! And the silver tongue to match it, too.

Plainly his classmate smiles. "I only have you to thank for your hard work, of course. But Your Highness, you must admit you would be lost here without me."

Dimitri lets his fists uncurl from a vile grasp, only now noticing they had been clenched this whole time. Feeling defeated, he picks up four books all at once and turns his back on Linhardt, who is entirely unbothered by their exchange and back on his reading.

The prince is still in shock. How could someone be so unwilling to cooperate for such a simple task? Was his reading so important that it couldn't be reserved for another time? No, that couldn't be the case. There must be some other explanation, Dimitri thought. Maybe he really was just like Hilda, maybe he had some sort of medical condition that prevented him from carrying heavy things, or maybe-

**BAM!** Next thing he knew, Dimitri was on the floor, his pile now scattered around him and on his lap. Did he slip and fall...?

"Must you always be this bothersome?" He hears a voice from above followed by a hand extended towards him. Was it... Linhardt?

"I... have trouble handling small things..."

"Books are smaller than shields and weapons, that's true... most of the time. But enough of that, let's get you up."

He reaches for the hand and grabs it, and while his classmate can't exactly pull Dimitri's entire weight up by himself, the effort is noted and the prince is soon back on his feet, collecting the mess of books mindlessly one by one. To his surprise, Linhardt follows his movements.

"At this rate, it'll be faster if I just help you, I suppose... You won me over, Your Highness." Linhardt gives him a small smile, perhaps remembering similar episodes with Caspar where he always managed to tear House Hevring's private library apart and mold it into a minefield of knowledge. One step and you'd be stepping on a book. Oh, good times.

Dimitri could only mutter a small thank you, but his relief was beyond expression. Next time, if there was ever a next time, he would consider trading tasks with Mercedes... a little less, now.


	2. B Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our lovely and fair prince finds his sleep to be eluding him. A small part of him still hopes - desperately hopes - to regain it in the dead of night. With all the strength he can muster, Dimitri is drawn to the only place that seems to soothe his nightmares: the Cathedral. However, the long and narrow bridge that separates him from it tests his patience and integrity...

**Blue Sea Moon, Year 1180.**

Under a moonless sky, The Prince of Fargheus walked the bridge between the Monastery and the Cathedral, directing his figure towards the latter. There was a lethargy to his steps - he ran like a cornered animal on its last legs. Panting, cold sweat rushing down his forehead and tainting it like a spark of rain would across a battlefield, he couldn’t help but remember that fateful day… As if it were today.   
  
As if the bridge was the very same, as if his frame had not changed, as if every second of his life since those howling, pleading, _deafening_ cries severed his ears - had never existed.   
  
He heard them even now. Was this striking vision part of the nightmare? The very same he was trying to escape from? His head tilted towards the vibrant stained glass overhead, offering his presence in the hope of salvation. Its colours were muted, shadowed by the clouds overhead. No stars, no Goddess. No hope. Dimitri felt his senses falter, certain that if this were reality, his time had come…   
  
He never did reach the Cathedral. A figure stood still before him in the darkness, likely confused to find another soul out in the dead of night. For a moment Dimitri thought it might be Hubert, but they seemed just short of his stature. Aimless, as his destination had faded out of his focus, the figure approached, flickering a candle alight.   
  
It was… Linhardt?   
  


"It's strange to see you here, Your Highness."

"...Is it? I... couldn't sleep, is all."

"Well, I usually can't either. Not at will like most other people can, anyway."

"That's... reassuring, I suppose."

"How so?"

He took a breath to steady himself, unsure of how much he was willing to disclose, to his classmate and at this time. "I feel the same as you. _When the night covers us in darkness, we are to be guided to sleep by the Goddess._ ” He recites a passage that had caught his attention in a sermon, though he couldn’t place why he had committed it to memory. ”And I do feel that need, but there's always... _something_ that keeps me from indulging in it."

"Whatever it is that is keeping you from sleeping, it's awfully rude. Not being able to sleep whenever you were compelled to? I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. It's bothersome enough to sleep for more time than you're awake."

The way he... interpreted his situation was just _comical,_ and the prince had no way of hiding it. "Haha... You're an interesting man, Linhardt."

"...Is that a compliment, Your Highness? People don't usually mean it that way, you know."

“I am being honest. An odd condition for an odd man such as yourself."

"I believe the current term to describe it is _insomnia_. Someone who can't fall asleep when they wish to, has trouble sleeping when they're tired, and who generally has less energy than others. It's truly bothersome sometimes, especially when you're so interested in what you're researching, you can't help but push through- And the next thing you know, you've been asleep in the library for six hours and Tomas wakes you up to inform you that you're late for class. Honestly."

"So you do work hard when you possess the will to do so, even at the cost of your precious sleep..." The prince mutters - clearly to himself - forgetting his manners for a moment, though Linhardt doesn’t seem to mind.

"Sometimes, Your Highness - sometimes miracles happen."

He quickly remembers them when there’s an answer. "...Still, it must be hard to live with such a physical detriment. I'm sorry."  
"You didn't do anything to cause it, frankly, so there's no need to apologize. In fact, I'm the one who owes you an apology."  
"Oh? Whatever for?"  
"The way you handled those books in the library... I believe I should've helped you from the start - particularly because I had a feeling you were eventually going to hold several of them at once and... well, you recall what happened."

"Please, that was a long time ago. I harbour no hard feelings towards you - it was a trivial matter."  
  


Linhardt’s otherwise generally pleasant, contemplative expression seems to crack at that. _"Please,_ Your Highness. Do you do this with your closest friends too, or do you simply not trust me?”   
“Wh- Whatever do you me-”   
“You do know you don't have to do everything by yourself, right? I realize my mistake was far greater than I had imagined, now.” His classmate sighs, a slight release of the torment within. “With as many friends as you seem to have, you could learn to lean on them a little. Really, it’s okay."   
  
As disheartened as Linhardt’s cadence was, his expression had softened. He stares Dimitri down with the same pair of puppy eyes Felix possessed in his childhood, when they were simply two rascals meddling with the snow. It breaks Dimitri’s guard completely, as it always had and always would.   
  


"...Your logic is sound, but it is harder in practice. Especially when you feel distant to them now, compared to before." The prince looked away, outward towards the edge of the bridge, preferring a colourless void to the piercing lazulite of Linhardt’s pupils.  
  


He sighs again. "That’s only natural if you’re the one imposing that distance, I’m afraid.” Then he approaches Dimitri, refusing to be brushed aside when he was so close to uncovering the man beneath the pomp and circumstance. He rested his elbows on the railing, candle only slightly illuminating the darkness slithering beneath.  
  
“Your Highness... The past can be full of regret, can't it? But the present _\- and the future -_ don't have to be that way. Consider how easier your life would be if you let others do the work for you sometimes."

"I'm not exactly looking to make things easier for myself... I don't want to be a burden."

"That's just ridiculous, Your Highness! It's not about being onerous... It's about knowing your limits. You can't be of much use if you're constantly falling asleep, can't you? I know I can't.”

Linhardt takes a deep breath and directs his eyes to Dimitri’s. “It's the same with you. If you keep pushing yourself far beyond exhaustion, you'll eventually break. Better to avoid that and its excruciating, long lived effects."

"Long lived effects...?" Those words scare him as much as they intrigue him. 

"You could lose your memory, your ability to form _new_ memories, your hearing, your palate... Exhaustion can even be deadly."

"I see... It makes sense. But what if you're just... unable to fall asleep? Even if you want to?"

"There are some medicinal herbs you could try - though if they worked, you probably wouldn't be asking me…” This time Linhardt looks away, contemplating an answer for his predicament.  
“Honestly, Linhardt, I would love to try them. You see, I haven’t exactly told anyone about this before…”   
“Of course you haven’t. Luckily for you, I have no reason to disclose your secrets!” A smirk comes to him, to which Dimitri can only give a sheepish glance. “Rest assured, I’ll simply fetch you some of my regular sleep inducers, we’ll start there - and if those don’t work, I could always venture out and do some research on the matter.”   
  
“You would do all of this for me?”   
“I would love to, Dimitri.”   
  
His name just slipped out of Linhardt’s tongue as if it were nothing special at all. Dimitri could almost cry.   
  
“Sorry, I-   
“No, please. Do call me by my name,” Dimitri insists, soothing the sudden panic that had flashed in Linhardt’s eyes. 

"I tire of hearing those whom I consider friends address me so formally…”  
  
“We are treated the same way we treat others, I’m afraid. Surely, if you start to let your guard down around those you trust, they’ll see no reason in keeping their own.”   
“Right you are again, my friend...”   
“If I’m right or wrong is ultimately your assessment to make... But I appreciate the sentiment.”   
  
And in that moment of clarity, there was no longer a reason to observe the darkness below them - for the sky had cleared, and a hint of moonlight washed their faces anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support! I have a lot of exciting things planned for these two and I can't wait to share them with whoever's eager to read them.


	3. Bonus 1. Tea Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince and the scholar's newfound common ground blossoms into a different sort of companionship over many nights of tea and confessions. Among them, one keen-eyed redhead may or may not have taken notice of Dimitri's covert escapades...

**Verdant Rain Moon, Year 1180.**

Three knocks at the door. That’s how he can tell it’s Dimitri.   
  
“Sorry to bother you so late at night, but…”   
“It’s no bother at all. I’ve been awake.”   
“... I can’t sleep again.”   
“Let’s brew you some tea, shall we?”

...  


  
They’re weaker this time - soft, yet somehow resolute knocks.   
  


“Linhardt…”   
“No need for apologies - I’ve been awake.”   
“Is it truly alright for me to keep-”   
“Come in. The water won’t stay hot for long.”   
  
...   
  
He hears footsteps approaching his door. Before a knock can ring, it’s open.   
  
“Oh! Uh, good evening…”   
“Again?”   
“...Yes.”   
“Come in. I’ve been awake.”   
  
But this time it’s clear he hasn’t - his hair is disheveled and untied, the white ribbon he usually wears with his uniform nowhere to be seen, and he’s in a long, folded nightgown instead. That sharp guilt Dimitri had been trying so hard to dissuade during these visits presses itself against his ribcage, taunting him.  _ ‘Could he have been concealing his lethargy from me all this time? But... why would he do such a thing?’ _

He takes his usual seat without saying anything. The nightmares take precedence still - they’re the reason he’s here, of course.    
  
Linhardt puts the kettle on and sorts through his box of many teas. His movements are so meticulous, Dimitri finds it rather entrancing to watch. He was sure that if he were to attempt to do it himself, the leaves would find a way to crumble between his hands or fly off their containers. Linhardt’s precision is admirable, even if the way he has organised this box seems to be comprehensible only to its owner.   
  
“You mentioned Angelica wasn’t working so well last time, so let’s try something else…” he ponders, taking a stack of different herbs into his palm.   
  
“I regret saying this, but...” Dimitri laments, slow and steady. “The tea does not seem to be helping me as much as we believed it would.” It’s difficult to measure his words now, but he must. “It does help me to fall asleep in a shorter amount of time, compared to without it. However…”   
  
Linhardt turns to him, placing his free hand on the ear of the chair across Dimitri’s. “Wasn’t that the objective? To be able to control when you sleep, at least to some extent?”   
  
Dimitri tenses and his eyes shoot to the table, racing left and right. He must control himself, he thinks. Linhardt shouldn’t know. “I-I mean to say that my sleep is still restless. I wake up feeling as if I had not slept at all.”   
  
“Hm. Curious. That’s never happened to me.” Linhardt comments, preoccupied with this new information as opposed to Dimitri’s restrained agony. Perhaps he doesn’t notice - the prince hopes that to be the case, as it brings him relief. 

His friend simply lets some leaves fall into his own cup, then Dimitri’s, splitting them even. “So, do you still become energized from that sleep? Can you go about your day, even if you don’t  _ feel _ well-rested? Or perhaps it’s that you haven’t slept, and your body has tricked you into believing it has… Fascinating.”   
  
“I carry on because I must. I have many duties to fulfill…”   
  
“That doesn’t tell me anything about your  _ physical condition _ , Dimitri.” Linhardt shoots him an unenthused look. A pout, almost. “Are you moving with vitality? Can you concentrate for long? Are classes bearable to sit through?  _ Do you ever get sleepy? _ ” Questions race out of his mouth as he’s quick to fetch a notebook for his answers. It’s as if he was never lethargic - as if the pursuit of knowledge has breathed life into him.   
  
The answer seems simple, but the questions can’t be further from the truth. Of course he doesn’t wish to lie, especially when Linhardt seems so eager to help him, but…    
  
“...No, I do not. Perhaps it is only a feeling, nothing more. You have been a great help, my friend.”   
  
Linhardt sets aside the notebook after a few scribbles, brings the kettle around and pours hot water for them both, ignoring the praise. “Still, it’s worth investigating...”

  
And so he begins to, but it hardly goes anywhere - mostly because Dimitri learns to dodge his questions as if they were javelins. To let them pierce him would threaten the beast within, and all he wants is to appease it! What would happen, after all, if he did lower his guard? Leave the cage unlocked so that vile  _ thing  _ within him could take control and frame him as the fool he is? Let it bare its fangs and sink its teeth on the one person who could possibly seal it away? He hoped - a small part of him still possessed hope, that his wish for red-stained revenge would cease if the nightmares did. Until then, he couldn’t forgive himself if he failed to restrain it. As much as Their ghoulish cries for retribution rang true in his will.   
  
Still, Linhardt insists he can help and the visits continue. They grow in number as Dimitri’s condition worsens, and it becomes difficult for Linhardt to keep up even if it’s clear that he wants to. He starts to consider changing tactics…

* * *

“Say, Your Highness… Lately, you’ve been sneaking out of your room.  _ At night. _ Does this mean you’ve finally listened to my advice?!” Sylvain nudges his friend, pride radiating from him beyond repair.

  
Dimitri goes pale. “Sylvain…! Don’t be ridiculous!”

  
“So it's true! I mean, why else would you be sneakin' around? C’mon, there’s no need to lie to your old bud.”

  
“I am nothing like you, and you know that,” His voice cracks as he defends himself, however. There is indeed no way to hide from Sylvain’s keen eye. “Please, do not speak of it to anyone else.” His cheeks turn a shade of pink, ever so softly against his will.

  
“Quite the secret you got there, Your Highness,” Sylvain beams in joy, revelling in that unusual expression of his. “But you know I’d never tell! Just remember - a dagger is never a good gift.”

  
_ “Sylvain!!...” _

  
“ **SYLVAIN!** We’re not done training, you insolent fool!” Felix roars from across the patio, marching towards his opponent.

  
“Unless it’s Felix,” He sighs knowingly. “Well, duty calls. Guess I got too curious,” Snickering, he begins to strut towards Felix before his temper gets the best of him. “Be careful, Your Highness, Dorothea’s a hard catch!”   
  
“D-Dorothea…?” 

He has heard that name before. Linhardt did mention he had a Dorothea for a classmate. Perhaps her room was close to Linhardt’s?, and Sylvain assumed…   
  
“Phahaha…!” Dimitri bursts out laughing at the misunderstanding. It scares some of the nearby servants and monks, as it’s  _ incredulously _ rare for the prince to laugh, even among his friends. Dedue rushes to his side, perhaps thinking it had been the work of some strange poison. It’s quite the sight to see Dimitri trying to appease his worries whilst dying from laughter, yet amidst it there are... tears of joy, perhaps relief.

* * *

Time passes without bringing much development - at least, about Dimitri’s qualms. His visits soften in number but grow in duration. He finds himself not wanting to leave Linhardt’s company - it is comforting, in a way, to hear him ramble about nothing and everything, from one’s favourite moon to crest theology, and with nothing to connect both subjects; he flutters from one to the next as if the world were at his fingertips, simply because of how much he knows about it - how much he reflects on it.   
  
Dimitri was taught only what he needed to know in order to rule his future kingdom, and sought to learn little else on his own. Now, he was curious about all that the world had to offer - all the frivolous, beautiful things he had been blind to all this time.   
  
“Tell me, what’s the weather like in House Hevring’s territory?”

“Oh, hideous,” Linhardt laughs. “It’s damp, it rains a lot - and it’s incredibly hot, too, considering most of it is eaten up by the Oghma Mountains. The perfect weather to make you feel like doing absolutely  _ nothing  _ with your time.”

“Faerghus is so cold in comparison… I would love to visit one day.”

“And I would love to travel anywhere outside the Empire, honestly…! But, if it’s you, I wouldn’t mind a visit first.”   


Every night, Linhardt attempts to keep the conversation lighthearted. It doesn’t always go exactly as planned.

  
  
“And then she simply took the book out of my hand and dragged me out of the library, right into Seteth’s icy glare! Oh, I thought that would be the end of me.”

“Oh, dear. What was the book about, anyway?”

“Nothing that should concern him, that’s for sure.  _ ‘The Art of Fishing: Volume 3.’ _ He didn’t even mention it - just took it from Flayn’s hand and admonished me, saying I should at least  _ try to be invested in student life _ , or something of the sort.”

“He does have a point, you know…”

“But I am invested! Just because I don’t  _ always  _ go to class doesn’t mean I’m not a good student. Far from it.”

“While your written exam scores are excellent, you could afford to better your swordsmanship. We could always spar, my friend.”

“Me? Spar?! Dimitri, I am a monk. I do not engage in battle. Do not make me use  _ magic  _ on you!”

  
  
Sometimes, Dimitri is compelled to reminisce. He finds it easier to unfurl these memories in the presence of someone who does not share them. It’s difficult to explain why - he supposed he preferred Linhardt’s curiosity to Ingrid’s lamentations. Regardless, his friend welcomed his trust.

“One time, me, Ingrid, Sylvain and Felix were all playing pretend - we were childhood friends - and Felix managed to climb a tree, all by himself, only to fall from it once he reached a branch he could sit on. He was hurt quite badly, yet he refused anyone’s help…”

“Not surprising, as your friend has quite the temper and the attitude.”   


“We’re not…” He struggles to find the words.    


Linhardt takes note of this immediately. “Well, either way, that does remind me of Caspar’s hijinks. He would scream around Fort Merceus about ‘villain’ this and ‘justice’ that, begging me to join his ‘crime-fighting squad’ whenever I visited - until the day the guards told him to stop, as they were rightfully disturbed and couldn’t do their jobs without, you know, a headache. He reacted like a total brat! And to be honest so did I, by doing nothing about it.”   


“Felix’s behaviour was bothersome to me as well, even back then. I couldn’t stand to see him so hurt... Though eventually, he ran to me and requested that  _ I _ ask Glenn to tend to his wounds, because he could not do it himself… And I did do just that.”   


“I suppose we were both helpless at their tomfoolery, weren’t we?”   


“Good times, for certain.”

  
  
Eventually, over another nightly cup of tea, Dimitri manages to be swayed by emotion and tells him:   


“Your company alone has done a lot for my sleep, I must say.”   


“Oh? Surely it must be the tea, Dimitri. All I do is ramble and whine...”   


“But I do love listening to you speak! Whatever subject, your thoughts distract my mind from my troubles…”   


“Well, if that’s the case… it seems I’m in your debt.”   


“And why is that, my friend?”   


“People who listen - so very patiently - to my thoughts, as if what I say matters…? People like you are very special to me. It’s only natural I ought to repay them.”   
  


“Well, I…” His heart skips a beat. “It would be delightful if we... c-could also spend some other time of day together, then. Just to speak as we do.”   


“I couldn’t possibly take your time away from your  _ princely duties _ , Dimitri.” Linhardt rolls his eyes, perhaps to mask the pink which coats his cheeks.   


“No, please… This is the only thing I could ask of you.” Dimitri, ever so serious, grants him a pleading glance.   
  


Linhardt makes haste to change the subject before that pink turns to red.


	4. Bonus 2. Part 1 - Field of the Eagle and Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another moon passes. Our prince and dear scholar grow closer when they’re no longer restricted to Dimitri’s nightly visits. Horsebow Moon and summer’s end mark a much important time for the two: tension and adrenaline infiltrate the peace otherwise instilled in Garreg Mach. The Battle of the Eagle and Lion is fast approaching… But can they possibly face each other when the time comes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the support!!! It truly motivates me to keep going. I must apologize for the late update compared to usual, but as this chapter will be longer I ask for your understanding. This is part 1 of 2: I got carried away writing this segment of the story, but I hope you all enjoy it!

**Horsebow Moon, Year 1180.**   
  
The training room was flooded with students this morning. While the Black Eagles’ classroom was scheduled to train at this time and thus had priority over the other classes, the grounds were big enough to withstand about one battalion, and so many came to practise. However, this also meant that some of Manuela’s students, those less inclined to better their abilities, had to be present nonetheless. Which is where Linhardt comes in.   
  
Petra was instisting he critique her lance technique. Now, the scholar was more than okay with observing and examining from a distance - at the very least, it gave him something to do and an excuse not to exert himself. At most, it proved a fascinating mental exercise. It was the reason he had begun to comment on her movements. But then... she insisted that he clarify his words, and suddenly he had lost all interest in this plan.   
  
Queue about fifteen minutes of Linhardt attempting to describe his findings in fifteen different ways, including an impressive effort to speak Petra’s language as one of them. Petra even suggests he demonstrate instead of lecturing her, and needless to say he tries his hardest to avoid this  _ at all costs. _ _   
_   
In the end, it frankly goes nowhere. Petra readies her lance once more, still attempting to translate Linhardt’s words into something that could aid her: she motions an upward swing and it feels so heavy; a downward strike and it is far too restrained. She keeps trying, but eventually Linhardt excuses himself to Bernadetta’s company as she was forced to practice her aim. At least if she asked for demonstration from him, he would exhaust himself far less with a bow as opposed to a lance, even if the latter was far more fascinating - theoretically. _   
_   
Biology book in hand, Linhardt lulls himself to his reading and soon enough he is fast asleep, cradled by the sound of Bernadetta’s hasty target hits.   
  
On the other side of the training grounds we see a much different story. Spars between childhood friends - more than common in Faerghus, especially between nobles as they trade blows. They’ve been here for a while, the four of them, dedicated as always. Sylvain and Felix busy themselves with sharpening their swordfaire as Ingrid and Dimitri are in the midst of a riveting, currently tied best of three.   
  
Ingrid wants to finish this quickly - she knows she’s running short of breath. Putting her whole body into one motion, she lunges forward and thrusts her lance, attempting to break Dimitri’s guard: it’s far too rushed, and he sweeps it away with his weapon before hers can get close. In retaliation, he moves for a sideways swing so as to knock her to the ground. Before she can brace for impact…   
  
...an ominous, oozing sound rings from within Dimitri as his motion invades Ingrid’s frame, the training lance colliding into her side much stronger than intended as she’s sent flying towards the entrance of the training hall. Dimitri’s eyes widen as his weapon breaks in two.  _ ‘Oh no, not my crest…!’ _   
  
**“YOUR HIGHNESS, WHAT IN THE-”**   
  
Ingrid crashes into the stone - or would have, were Dorothea not there, the maiden of the hour as she manages to catch Ingrid in the nick of time. Not without serious effort, of course: her knees bend severely into the ground as her frame tries to mitigate the impact of the collision.   
  


“Whoah, look who’s working hard,” Dorothea manages to tease even now, letting Ingrid down gently.   
  
“Always am, Dorothea...” She musters amid the embarrassment. She wants to focus on getting back to her feet, yet being held like this isn’t so bad either… “Thank you for catching me. That was close - if you weren’t here, I wonder if I would have broken something.”   
  
“And we couldn’t have that, could we? My Ingrid needs to be in prime condition for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion! So, don’t mention it~.” Needless to say, Dorothea is equally thrilled to have this opportunity. Even so, she lets go of Ingrid when she sees she’s regained her footing.   
  
And here comes Dimitri, guilty as charged and feeling worse than anything as he extends a hand to help Ingrid up.   
  
“By the Goddess, I’m deeply sorry, Ingrid,” he laments. “If only I could better control my crest so that accidents as these wouldn’t happen…”

“Please, Your Highness, do not trouble yourself. It is clear that, crest or not, I was outmatched.” Plainly she smiles and takes his hand, and quickly finds herself eye-to-eye with the other two. “I learned a lot from simply observing your movements!”

“Still, I will be more careful in the future. That was an excellent match indeed - would you perhaps care to go for one more round? It is only fair.”

“I’m afraid I shouldn’t exert myself further, Your Highness…” She glances at Dorothea for a moment, unsure of what draws her to do so. “I intend to train later in the day, so I must pace myself. Still, consider this a victory - for now.”

Dimitri smiles at her - a knowing smile. “I look forward to seeing that victory challenged.” 

  
  
Dorothea is starting to feel a little awkward in this environment.  _ ‘Ingrid mentioned they were childhood friends. In a way, I can see that, but… they’re both so formal with each other. _ ’ In her mind a plan is quickly hatched.   
  
“Oh, if you’re done training for now, Ingrid, I was just about to have a word with Manuela. After that, we could perhaps share a meal?” Dorothea catches Ingrid’s gaze with a wink and all of a sudden this girl is _ flushed red.  _ To mask this, she concentrates on her friend’s request.   
  
“Oh, yes! I would love to, Dorothea - In fact, I am starving!” Ingrid stammers. “I do not mind waiting until you are done.”   
  
“I’ll be right back, my dear,” Dorothea teases her. “And good day to you, Your Highness! If you find yourself starved for action, do know there are plenty of other students here who would love to get a piece of you~.” And as she says this, she’s off to speak to Manuela, leaving our prince somewhat flustered, even if just for a second.   
  
  
It’s a little awkward, now. Ingrid and Dimitri don’t often speak much outside of training. They simply wait here, avoiding each other’s gazes. Dimitri seems to be cooling off from their match, regaining his breathing and wiping sweat from his forehead as his eyes drift to his childhood friends. They’re trading blows as fervently as when they started earlier, and this seems to entrance him. Ingrid observes him and he doesn’t notice - she’s trying to put it into words, this silence. After a while, she breaks it.   
  
“You could always spar with Sylvain or Felix as well, Your Highness.”   
  
“Well, I would not wish to interrupt them-”   
  
“In general, that is. If I may, you seem to be avoiding them lately.”   
  
“I… have?” Dimitri raises an eyebrow as he’s caught completely by surprise.   
  
“It is always me or Dedue you challenge. Strategically speaking, you cannot improve if you do not experience different approaches to battle,” She crosses her arms, observing her two friends’ movements as they engage each other. “And the best way to do that is to face different opponents.”   
  
“Right you are… I cannot say I have been doing so intentionally, but your observation is sound regardless. Yet…”    
  
He feels uneasy about approaching them, for some reason. He assumes it might be simply because he doesn’t wish to interrupt their regular training - the only way Sylvain engages in his duties as a student is if he’s pressured by Felix, or somehow by one of his love interests. And Felix… he keeps his distance from, only per the other boy’s request. Felix never minds sparring with him though - even seems enthused by the prospect.   
  
Plainly but frankly she smiles at him. “I wish to keep training with you, of course, but perhaps it’s time you seek to spar with someone new.”   
  
_ ‘Someone new…’ _ His eyes scan the training hall for faces. He sees Linhardt in the corner and huffs, stifling a knowing smile.  _ ‘I wonder if he would ever spar with me… What would it take for him to pick up a weapon?’  _ Of course, Dimitri was aware of the boy’s aversion to close combat, but he couldn’t help but be curious as to how he would approach him in battle… Could Lindhardt learn to respect this art, just as the prince had in the distant past?   
  
  
Dorothea returns to their company - Manuela asked her to check on a certain student’s vitality, one who is staying in the infirmary. For this, Dorothea was dismissed from their morning training. All in all, despite having to check on some rather grievous wounds, she was pleased with this outcome.   
  
“Shall we, Ingrid?” Dorothea hooks her arm to Ingrid’s excitingly.   
“We shall. See you soon, Your Highness!” They wave Dimitri goodbye.   
  
He supposes now would be as good a time as any to employ Ingrid’s advice. Dimitri quickly makes his way to a page in service, apologizes for the broken lance and requests two. Without fuss his request is granted and he begins walking towards the target practice area.   
  
Meanwhile, in that other corner of the room…   
  
  
“Come on, Bernie. Just one more shot. Maybe then I’ll finally be able to leave…” She mutters as she takes aim. Linhardt is still fast asleep, his face sunk into his book.   
  
She focuses on the target, giving it her all to tighten her muscles and straighten her posture as she was taught, pulls back the string and…   
  
“Excuse me - you’re one of Linhardt’s classmates, righ-”   
  
“AAAAAAAAH! GODDESS PROTECT ME FROM THIS  **BEAST** !” Bernie jolts at Dimitri’s voice, completely losing her focus and letting the arrow fly way off target. She doesn’t mind that though - she runs  _ towards  _ the target, in fact, and hides behind it. “STAY BACK OR I’LL CALL PROFESSOR MANUELA!”   
  
_ ‘Is she a friend of Felix’s…? Huh.’  _ Dimitri blinks twice at this. “I assure you I mean no harm-”   
  
“I- I’ll shoot! I’ll do it! Oh, Goddess, is this the end for Bernie?!”   
  
“What’s all this now…” A third party enters the conversation, yawning heavily as he springs to his feet. It’s Linhardt, book in hand, (nearly) fully awake and somewhat bothered by this sudden awakening. “Bernadetta, I thought you were training. You can’t shoot the targets from such a close distance, especially not from behind. Unless you mean to tell me you’re planning to become an assassin…”   
  
_ “A  _ **_what…?_ ** _ ”  _ Her voice lowers to a whisper, and suddenly she’s in her own world once more, talking to herself.  _ “Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I would just sneak up on people and WHAM! No chance of getting hurt unless I get caught. Hmm, yeah…” _ _   
_ _   
_ “That did the trick, I suppose.” He cracks a knowing smile at her and shifts his focus to Dimitri. “My friend! You sure keep yourself busy. I would have stopped by to watch your training, but a classmate asked me for help before I could.”   
  
“And you fell asleep instead… I’m disappointed in you, frankly.” Dimitri pokes fun at him, crossing his arms disapprovingly.   
  
“Don’t give me that look! It wasn’t our dear Bernadetta here. I helped Petra with her lancefaire. You should meet her - she’s quite smart and skilled. Once I was done, I simply excused myself.”   
  
“While I believe you, I never did see you wielding a lance... “   
  
“Oh, I could never. They’re too heavy - you get drenched in sweat so easily after a few swings.”   
  
“That must mean you’ve handled one before. It may be indulgent of me to ask, but I would love to spar with you. Would you accept?” Dimitri extends a lance in Linhardt’s direction.   
  
“You wish to spar…  _ with me? _ ” Linhardt repeats his request. It’s simply, just… so  _ not him _ . He supposed Dimitri had asked purely for fun, or perhaps to judge his reaction. “I don’t believe I would last very long, if I’m honest… it wouldn’t make for a very interesting match. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to duel Petra instead?”   
  
  
“He’s trying to humiliate you! Don’t fall for it, Linhardt!” Bernie screams, supportively, before running off to Professor Manuela’s side. They both seem to flinch at her words, yet see no need to address them beyond an enthused look.   
  
  
“My friend, I insist! It is rare to see you here. Your classmate, on the other hand, is here quite frequently and I may yet challenge her - but I know that to challenge you if not at this moment... I would have to carry you to this room myself!” He lets himself grin a little at the thought of carrying Linhardt as Caspar occasionally would.   
  
“That would be very,  _ very _ unpleasant - are you  _ certain  _ this is what you want of me? A duel? You likely have more than ten times my strength and speed and skill; and I must say this sort of thing both disgusts me and bores me to death.” Linhardt crosses his arms, yet he doesn’t look particularly tense or annoyed despite the vileness of his speech.   
  
There’s a burning desire that begins to manifest in Dimitri - he wants to see Linhardt in action. He recalls some of Felix’s sayings and is swayed by them in the moment. “Yes, I know this to be true. But, please - I wish to see the way you would handle a weapon. It is a keen way to know more about someone, and perhaps if you try it, you will come to learn more about yourself as well. I surely have in my years of training.”   
  
Linhardt sighs. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t give them room to argue. Perhaps Caspar, but Caspar understands his repulsion to such things and respects it. Dimitri seems not to comprehend it fully, but Linhardt doubts he ever could.    
  
  
“...If it’ll please you, I’ll at least try to defend myself.” He takes the lance he’s offered.   
  
Dimitri beams. “Thank you, my friend. Let us see what you are capable of! Please, do not hold back.”   
  
“Sure, sure...” Like he had much to hold back, really.   
  
Both of them take a few steps back and ready their stances. The lance being Dimitri’s weapon of choice, he is more than comfortable wielding it, adjusting his footing as he sizes his opponent down. This is it - the moment he’s been pining for. He could feel a burst of energy building in his gut, awaiting the sweet release of momentum.

  
“Ready?” Dimitri took a few more steps back, giving himself room for his strategy.   
  
Linhardt is caught off guard as he tries to remember what he’s read about common stances for the lance. “Hold on, I’m trying to remember how you do this…”   
  
“Shift your legs a little closer together, and make sure your posture is straightened and stable!”   
  
“Ah, thanks…” He mutters, following these instructions to the letter. Once he’s in position, there’s... a strange glint in his eye. “I get it now. I’m ready.”   
  
“Let us begin!”   
  
Dimitri charges forward - not giving it his all, but certainly not going easy on his opponent either - as he readies a side slash. At most, it would poke Linhardt’s stomach if he released it early, as he intended. However, as soon as he begins to close in on him, the boy runs towards him, quickly  _ throws himself  _ to the ground and ducks the attack, sliding right below and between Dimitri’s legs.   
  
**“How did you do that!?!”** Bernadetta screams in confusion. It’s nothing unexpected of her, but at least she seems to enjoy watching the match. “I-I mean, get him, Linhardt! Show him who’s boss!”   
  
Dimitri is caught completely off guard by this strategy - but he has also learned to adapt. He turns around to see his opponent rising to his feet and… trying to run away? “Wait, you- get back here!”   
  
“Never said I was in it for a fair fight!” Linhardt manages to yell out while dropping his lance and making a beeline for the exit. “Goodbye!”   
  
He almost makes it out, but then…   
  
“Where do you think you’re going, you little rascal?” Professor Manuela grabs on to Linhardt’s shoulder before he could escape. “You’re still in class! Back to work, now.”   
  
Dimitri runs up to the two, somewhat disappointed at Linhardt’s demeanour… though he supposes he did learn what his friend’s fighting style is - avoiding confrontation at all costs.   
  
“Ugh, I’m exhausted and my uniform’s dirty and it’s all your fault, Dimitri…” He groans as his teacher lets go of him and leaves their presence.   
  
“I suppose running counts as training… But, I’ll also concede I got carried away. Sorry…” The prince admits this, his voice lowering ever so softly in shame... yet in a way, he’s pleased to have driven Linhardt to action. “How can I make it up to you?”   
  
Linhardt knows just the thing.   
  


* * *

  
A nap. Below the shade of a tree and amidst summer’s last whisper, they lay side by side after Linhardt’s dismissed from training. It’s a beautiful day to be in the forest, just a little far away from all the hustle and bustle of Garreg Mach Monastery.   
  
“This might just be my favourite place to take a nap, to be honest,” Linhardt confesses. They’re on a slight incline that allows them somewhat of an overlook of the forest without it turning into one blurred green mesh. The stumps are just the spot of odd colour one needs to make the view intriguing.   
  
“I’ve never been here…” Dimitri whispers, taken aback by its wonder.   
  
“It’s quite a ways off the main path, so that’s only natural.” The boy yawns, placing his hands behind his head to support it. “Absolutely worth it, though. Peace and quiet - everything you need to have the most refreshing nap.”   
  
“Peace and quiet, yes… It really has been a while since I’ve experienced it.” Dimitri takes a long breath. “I almost forgot what it felt like…”   
  
“That’s a shame.” Plainly he frowns. Of course His Highness never had time for these things. At least, he’s here now.   
  
“I wish it was always like this.”   
  
“Me too.”   
  
Silently they make a vow, there. To protect this peace. The birds happily chirp and flutter above them from tree to tree - perhaps a sign of the Goddess’ approval, perhaps Nature’s.   
  
  
Dimitri extends his hands to the sides, stretching his muscles. They feel so heavy after being pushed to their limits over the course of his training.   
  
“I hope I won’t have to face you in the coming battle…” he confesses.   
  
“There’s hardly a chance for it to happen, really… Unless you deliberately go after me. That would be rude.” Linhardt closes his eyes, a matter-of-factly tone in his voice.   
  
Dimitri dislikes relying on the luck of the draw. “...Is there a chance I could convince you to transfer houses?” He’s mostly joking… Mostly.   
  
“Nope. As much as I like you, I also like where I am, thank you very much.”   
  
“Of course…”   
  
They both smile, and silence befalls them once more.   
  
But Dimitri can’t keep the image out of his mind. What is he supposed to do, if he is forced to cross Linhardt in battle? When he first enrolled in the Officer’s Academy, the Battle of the Eagle and Lion was something he had been looking very much forward to - especially because he could finally face Edelgard. His friends would all be allies, united under the same banner. Now… he wasn’t so sure. There was a friend on the other side of the field. Of course, this was only a mock battle, but his resistance to the idea stood.  _ ‘If I walk away, I will be forced to answer questions I don’t have answers to. But if I strike him… Oh, why does the thought trouble me so? Is it because I feel so bad about earlier…?’ _   
  
Suddenly, Linhardt cuts a path through his thoughts. His voice lowers to a pitch so serious it surprises our prince; he’s never seen Linhardt so serious, not even back at the bridge.   
  
  
“So, why did you want to cross spears with me exactly, Dimitri? Honestly, though your insistence was… uncomfortable, I am curious to know your reasoning. All that  _ ‘to truly know your friend, you must fight them’ _ attitude doesn’t seem like your thing.” He mimics Felix’s voice in jest. Man, he was  _ onto _ him.   
  
“Well… the original idea was not mine, it was Ingrid’s - she suggested I diversify my range of sparring partners, to better myself further. However, to challenge you was my intent alone. I suppose… I just wondered if there was any way we could train together. Maybe, if I helped you with what you struggle with…”   
  
“While that’s... flattering, in a sense, I can’t stand close combat. As a mage, I see no point in perfecting it. It may be hard for you to understand this…”   
  
“It frankly is, in a way.” He gives this some thought. “Is it because you wish to avoid inflicting pain on others?”   
  
“On one hand, I guess that’s true. Not the full picture, though.” He takes a moment to adjust his posture, sitting up and resting his back against a tree. It gives him time to articulate his thoughts before he releases them.   
  
“Bloodshed is a terrible thing, Dimitri. What disturbs me the most is how we pretend it’s a normal part of our lives. That it will happen eventually and we just have to live with it.  Blood is the lifestream of our bodies: it’s meant to circulate inside them, not ooze out. Oh, it’s  _ disgusting  _ when it pours out… Ehm, anyway.” He clears his throat, flushing the mental image he gave himself out of his mind. “We forget this so often that… we find excuses to allow such bloodshed to persist, like retribution, glory and pride.”   
  
“I do agree…” Dimitri mutters after giving these words some thought. He shifts his position to a sitting one so as to face Linhardt. “...even if, as a prince, I have little say on what to like, and how to spend my time, I wish it wasn’t so necessary for me to learn… how to kill. On one hand, I must admit it is exciting, for me, to wield the lance in pure sport and to compete against others, but I hope to never use it for harm. I wonder if that’s possible… if, when I ascend the throne, I’ll be able to avoid war and conflict.”   
  
“People say war is inevitable,” - he rolls his eyes - “but those people are fools. It is only impossible to avoid if we let absurd ideals get to our heads. Nothing’s more precious than a human life - and above all, a peaceful existence.”   
  
“Right you are, Linhardt.” He remembers the other boy’s confession. “I am sorry for forcing your hand. I vouch not to do it again.”   
  
“No apology or vouch necessary,” he yawns. Suddenly, his serious cadence is gone as if it were never here. “I’ve already forgotten about it.”   
  
This confuses our prince somewhat. He turns his face to Linhardt. “How are you so quick to forget those who wrong you?”   
  
“Life’s too short,” He simply states, smiling. “What can you do with a grudge? Nothing. It only brings you pain. Better to let it go, leave it behind - run towards the present.”   
  
“If only it were that easy for me…” Dimitri laments under his breath.   
  
  
Linhardt doesn’t hear it. He’s focused on Dimitri’s neck. It’s… there’s a faint red stain there. It twists his insides in a knot  _ instantly. _ “Hey, Dimitri… Does your neck hurt?”   
  
“Now that you mention it,” He passes a hand through it, and the stain, though somewhat dried by now, carries over to his palm. He’s mortified - not because it hurts, but because Linhardt seems close to fainting. “Oh.  _ Oh Goddess. _ Linhardt, stay with me-” He pleads without thinking, his clean hand reaching out to him as he hides the other.   
  
But instead of turning away, he flinches and moves closer, even if he avoids to look at the wound directly. “Let… let me look at it.”   
  
Softly Dimitri furrows his brows. “Are you sure…? It won’t kill me, but it is disturbing you.”   
  
Linhardt bites his lip. He wants to help, as much as it disgusts him. And oh, does it disgust him so. “...Allow me.” He scoots closer and places a hand just above his wound. It covers the red and eases his nerves. “There. If I can’t see it, it won’t affect me. I hope.” Linhardt scoffs at himself.   
  
Dimitri doesn’t resist. “If you insist...” Linhardt begins to weave a minor healing spell on the wound. The soft light that radiates from his palm emits a strange warmth also.   
  
  
They’re so close, closer than ever before - and this lets Dimitri examine the boy’s features in a way he has never done. The glint of sunlight in his eyes, illuminating that twinkling starry blue, his elegant, sea green strands of hair, that soft face… It’s…  _ ‘Beautiful.’ _ _   
_ _   
_   
Even if his expression seems, at best, uncomfortable. The prince takes notice of this and it’s enough to return him to reality. “You go to such lengths to help me, and I have nothing to offer but discontent…” Dimitri laments, pressing his lips together as he lowers his eyes, avoiding who’s before him.   
  
“Oh, Dimitri.” He should have seen some kind of remark like this coming eventually. “Don’t you realise you are helping me right now, in this moment? Aversion to blood is a terrible phobia for a medic,” Linhardt scoffs at himself, again. Dimitri wishes he wouldn’t. “I may like to dislike the sight of blood, in a way… but I always wished to let go of the paralysing fear it gives me.”   
  
The boy restracts his hand, the glow of it dims to nothing, and the wound closes on itself. Linhardt smiles at him.   
  
  
“So, is it gone?” Dimitri asks. “Your fear?”   
  
“Hah, not really,” Linhardt laughs a little, rolling his eyes. “Do you believe trauma can be cured just like that? From one moment to the next?”   
  
“I... wish it was so…” He closes his eyes, letting his head fall forward a little. So, he wasn’t the only one struggling with such heavy burdens...   
  
“Don’t we all. Still, there you go. This is a step forward, I suppose, and your wound should disappear soon enough.”   
  
“Thank you, Linhardt.”    
  
  
His clean hand has the urge to reach out further. He restrains himself.   
  
“It’s no problem...” Softly, he replies.   
  
He feels Linhardt’s face come close to his own… Could he possibly share what he was feeling?   
  
This burning, incessant need to act - to thank him for all he’s done, to embrace him? To... Surely not. Surely he couldn’t allow himself such happine-   
  
  
But in a surge of confidence Linhardt does. He presses his lips to Dimitri’s and the prince is  _ stone still,  _ and not for lack of trying to move. It’s more of a quick peck than a kiss - it’s over before they both realise it. Their eyes meet.   
  
“It’s been a while…” Linhardt sighs, calm as he contemplates Dimitri’s face.   
  
“I- I…” Dimitri is at a loss for words, a flustered mess even after the tension is released. “Do you…?”   
  
“... since I felt so happy.”   
  
  
He did. He did feel the same.   
  
**He did feel the same.**   
  
_ ‘What do we do now…?’ _ _   
_ _   
_   
“M-me too…” Dimitri manages to let out in the smallest voice.   
  
“Oh, thank the Goddess, I was worried there for a second,” Finally, Linhard’s features let go of that silent tension. “that my assumptions had been too rash. Is this really so strange to you?”   
  
“I am not much of a romantic… Well. I thought I wasn’t, anyway.”   
  
“Oh?, well…” The scholar seems to find this endearing, pressing a hand to the side of Dimitri’s face. “I’d like to see… I’d like to see that side of yours, then.”   
  
“I have no choice but to comply, I suppose,” he taunts the boy now that he’s regained some composure. “You wanted to sleep for a while?”   
  
Linhardt raises an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that look…! It’s a great day for it, yeah.” He scoots closer to Dimitri, and this time the prince lets go of his restraint, placing the clean hand and arm around him - slowly. He’s not quite used to the warmth of another. There’s a strange adrenaline within him still.   
  
“Then I’d love to sleep here, by your side, and forget about all our duties… just for a moment. It’s what you do best, and I’m curious as to how you do it so well.” Dimitri requests, a smile laced on his face.   
  
“Seems I’m starting to rub off on you… But oh, right in my weakness - I can’t possibly refuse that.”   
  
  
And they lay together, embraced in one another, and cradle each other to the most blissful sleep they’ve both had in a while. Between consciousness and the realm of dreams, they feel intertwined - there’s a conversation, and though they remember it in their wake, they’re not sure if it happened or not, and are too afraid to ask one another.   
  
_  
“Caspar was my first kiss… he was terrible at it. I doubt we both knew what we were doing, though, or if he remembers it.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Haha, that sounds just like him. Quick to action yet little thought to it, just like his work ethic.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “What was yours, Dimitri?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “It was…” He hesitates. “...Felix, but I doubt he remembers it either. Or wants to.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Why is that?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “We’re not close anymore… I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe some other time, my…” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “My dear... how I understand you.” _ _   
_ _   
_   
Linhardt wakes up first. He carefully slithers out of Dimitri’s grasp, leaves a note with instructions back to Garreg Mach in Dimitri’s hand, and leaves the prince to his sleep.


	5. Bonus 2. Part 2 - Battle of the Eagle and Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our prince and scholar’s relationship has taken a sudden shift - and while it seemed to have brought them closer, it has now driven them apart. Will the Battle of The Eagle and Lion mend their relationship, or carve an even larger divide between them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little drama never hurt anyone, right? I guess we'll see lmao;;; Enjoy

In the week that followed that fated day where their paths merged into one - Linhardt began to avoid Dimitri.   
  
He was convinced their meeting had been a dream, or a fluke. Perhaps a mistake - surely the prince of Faerghus could have indulged in the adrenaline of a new affair, as most do, but the scholar was sure that wasn’t to last. It couldn’t. So many lofty responsibilities he carried on his shoulders, that one, while Linhardt soaked up the sun that remained in the shards of a tree’s shade.   
  
“An entire kingdom, his friends, training, the coming battle… All of this while lacking sleep. It’s too much for one person to handle. Of course he keeps trying to run from it…”   
  
This tree has always been quite the good listener to our scholar. Good at keeping secrets, too, as it kept that afternoon’s events to itself, even from him. Rude of it to do that, in a sense, but... he confides in it. Rants about the prince as if no one else would listen.   
  
“...And here I am, denying him that escape.”   
  
He would do the same, if he were in his position. Linhardt is sure of this. But… Dimitri isn’t like him. Dimitri mounts everything on himself and then some - so, why? Why did he shove those burdens aside? And for a moment of indulgence, no less? Of course, Linhardt had been the one to close the gap, but… He’s supposed to be the self-serving one of the two. The slothful mess, the least noble of all nobles, the carefree spirit. Not Dimitri.   
  
“...It can’t be right, can it? To run.”   
  
It was childish, perhaps. But that’s what Linhardt did best. It had always worked for him in the past. Now, he wasn’t so sure.   
  
“If people rely on you, it’s only right you help them.”   
  
He’s going in circles. He keeps thinking, twisting and turning his logic, and it goes nowhere. When he turns to his heart, all it wants is to deny itself happiness - and when has that ever happened to him before?!   
  
“Ugh, now he’s rubbing off on  _ me  _ and I’m not sure I like it…”   
  
He lets out a restless groan. Then he adjusts himself against the grass, letting his hair blend with it; releasing a breath he had been holding without realizing.   
  
“It couldn’t have been real. Tell me it wasn’t, Dolores.”   
  
The tree rustles its leaves in the wind. Linhardt, for a moment, thought it was attempting to communicate.   
  
He just pouts at it. “You never say what I want to hear.”   
  
Growing tired of this question that weighed so heavily on him, he turns away from the tree and falls ever slowly to sleep’s blissful numbness. Perhaps he would wake up and find the answer beside him.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
No matter how hard Dimitri looked, he could never find Linhardt. This persisted for a week and a half. He didn’t have many friends, so it was difficult to ask around - people even rumored he had become a recluse just like his friend Bernadetta, as he had contemplated the thought in the past. When he knocked on his door, attempting to strike another nightly visit, he heard rushed footsteps and a shuffle of bedsheets. The next night, a deathly silence.   
  
It hurt him deeply to be ignored so blatantly, but above all, it confused Dimitri.  _ ‘Why allow me such happiness, only to later deny it…? Could I have possibly done something wrong? Oh, my…’ _ He wasn’t even sure what to call him anymore. As much as he continued to scrape his head for answers, nothing came. And yet, the boy would not leave his mind.   
  
So much so it left the prince open for a swing of Dedue’s axe as he disarmed Dimitri of his lance.   
  
“Your Highness?”   
  
“Sorry, my friend. I was distracted.”   
  
The taller man grunts. “Do you wish to try again?”   
  
“Yes, please.” He picks up his weapon from the ground and readies his stance.   
  
Ingrid was right, in a sense. It does feel productive to challenge someone new, now that he’s facing someone ready and willing. It had been a while since the two crossed blades. Though… his focus waned so easily. All he could think about was those words of wisdom, entrancing him, leading him to those soft lips - Linhardt’s arms like open doors. Where were those doors now? The more he went through the motions of training, the more he longed for them. And all that remained for him were barricades, wooden doors and poles and crosses.   
  
For the sake of everything he stood for, he numbed himself to these poetics. Blows feel like mechanisms. The thoughts never leave him, but he would make space for others. Eventually, perhaps in an attempt to relinquish them, he asks Dedue a question.   
  
“My friend…” The hesitance costs him a scrape of Dedue’s axe against his shoulder. He shrugs it off.   
  
“Your Highness, please focus on your training.” He rushes to reply as he readies another swing. Cold and practical as always.   
  
“This is about my training.” Dimitri defends, lying to his face.   
  
“What did you want to ask, then?”   
  
“Say that we were at war, and currently losing. Then, by some unexpected factor, the tides of the current battle turn in our favour - and the enemy begins to retreat. Though we don’t have enough information to discern why they are falling back, we could risk ending the war at that moment... What would you do? How do you manage a fleeing enemy that, in all other factors, still holds the upper hand?”   
  
“Your Highness, I would advise you in these matters without question, but I am a soldier first and a tactician last,” Dedue sighs, focusing on his swings. “And would defer to what you think would be the best course of action.”   
  
Dimitri switches to the defensive. “Please, indulge me in this hypothetical. I’ve been thinking about it incessantly-” He stops himself before this becomes about something else. “-more than I would like. I simply cannot see what would be the right thing to do.”   
  
This time, Dedue gives it serious thought. He couldn’t refuse any request of Dimitri’s, anyhow. At least, of this kind.   
  
“If it would put our general at risk, or even you, Your Highness, it would be best to leave them. To flee is generally an act of survival, as we both know.” They both nod in understanding. “And survival enables rash behaviour. Approaching a cornered enemy may be the quickest way to win, but without certainty that this would be their last stand, it could potentially be of great peril to us instead.”   
  
“So it is best to let them go and regroup, refocus… Let time pass.” In a weird way, this is exactly what Dimitri wants to hear. With so much on his plate at the moment, some reassurance goes a long way to soothe his worries. Suddenly his head feels much lighter and he can predict the other man’s movements much better.   
  
“That is what I would advise, Your Highness. Does that answer your question?”   
  
He exhales in relief. “Yes, Dedue, it does. In fact, I must say you are a better tactician than what you give yourself credit for. Thank you.”   
  
“Glad to be useful, is all.” Dedue smiles. It is lukewarm and sincere; it’s all Dimitri could ever ask of him.   
  
_ ‘All in due time, then… Perhaps he feels as if he's made a mistake, and is unable to face me because of it.’  _ He hopes this to be the case, in a way, but most of all wishes they could simply talk to each other.  _ ‘For now… The Battle of the Eagle and Lion awaits me at dawn.’  _

  
They continue their endless exchange of blows in silence, but this time the prince allows himself to breathe, and truly focus his efforts on the task at hand.   
  


* * *

  
Dawn beckons over Gronder Field. The respective classes assemble and begin to set their plans in motion.   
  
“Ready, Your Highness?”   
  
It’s Sylvain. He taunts Dimitri from his mount, lording over him with that perfectly chiseled grin. The Blue Lions undergo their final preparations, though these two have been ready for a while.   
  
“I am.” He gives the field a good look - the vibrant green that was the grass now invaded with soldiers.  _ ‘No, classmates,’ _ he corrects himself.   
  
“Just leave Dorothea to me - can’t have our lovebirds fighting each other, can we?”   
  
_ ‘Lovers, fighting each other…’ _ For a moment only, those words linger. A green haired boy comes to mind, perhaps just to taunt it. Dimitri hopes, after everything and despite anything, that he would not be forced to cross him…   
  
He steadies himself. “So long as it follows our plan, Sylvain - do as you wish.”    
  
This battle isn’t deadly, he tells himself - it’s an exercise. A simple display of skills and wills put against each other only for the sake of self-improvement and sport.   
  
And Dimitri was ready to deliver his end of the blade upon it. Even if it meant crossing a certain silver-haired old friend...   
  


* * *

  
Meanwhile, on the other side of the field, the mood is drastically different. There are those taking it way too seriously and those not taking it seriously enough.   
  
“I really, REALLY don’t want to be here… It’s not like I’m gonna be of any use to anyone, anyway…”   
  
“Bernadetta, must I remind you Her Highness specifically appointed  _ you _ to take control of the main fort?” Linhardt crosses his arms, somewhat disappointed by her attitude. Disappointed, by not surprised.   
  
“That’s only because I misunderstood something about how this battle was going to work and  _ you made her do it! _ ” She exclaimed in a mix of fury and fear. “Don’t lie to me, I know you did! You and your fancy words - this was all your plan, wasn’t it? Leave poor Bernie out on enemy territory where she’ll be humiliated in front of everyone!”   
  
“No, listen…” Linhardt takes a moment to choose his words carefully so as not to hurt her. To him she was worth this effort - they were friends, and that’s what friends do. “No one is plotting against you. If anything, this strategy makes you an essential part of our plan - you lure out whoever is looking to capture that area, and before anyone can harm you, Dorothea and Ferdinand come rushing in your defense. A simple but effective plan.”   
  
She does stop to listen to his explanation, though it only seems to twist her anger to sadness. “So basically, I’m just bait… Ugh, great…”   
  
“And what a fine bait you make indeed.” He can’t help but snicker a little.   
  
“ **Linhardt..!** You’re so mean!” And suddenly it looks like she’s on the verge of tears.   
  
Before she can shed a single one, though, Dorothea seems to notice this and swings by. “Hey, Bernie!  _ Aaaand Linhardt, _ ” the second name has a specific sort of venom laced in it that makes the boy immediately back off. “It’s almost time! We should go get in position, yeah?”   
  
“Ah! Position! Yeah!” Bernie remembers. Her face lights up. “Yeah, we should go! Nothing can go wrong as long as you’re nearby, right?”   
  
“I’ll protect you as best I can!” Dorothea rolls her fists encouragingly.   
  
“Aah, thank you so much! You’re such a good friend, Dorothea!” She starts walking off to the planned location with a spring in her step. “Not like Linhardt who just bullies me…!”   
  
“Come on, you know it wasn’t me who suggested th-”   
  
**_“Linhardt,_ ** _ now really isn’t the time for this.”  _ Dorothea whispers to him through gritted teeth. He was on thin fucking ice with her, and knowing this, he throws his hands up and lets Bernadetta go.    
  
“Thank you~.” She throws some sugar on that sentence. It’s not very effective.   
  
“Sure sure. Though, for the record, I did very little to upset her. She ends up upsetting herself most of the time.”   
  
“That’s… true. But next time, at least  _ try  _ not to make her cry?” Her emerald-green eyes laser focus on his frame with a little scorn.   
  
He doesn’t pay much mind to it. “No promises. I swear, she can do that on demand. On second thought, she would be a great actor...”   
  
**“Linhardt!”** Dorothea crosses her arms. “She is scared. Constantly. By everyone. She has a lot going on and no one to talk to.”   
  
“Don’t we all…” He sighs and turns away from her, giving a glance at the field before them. “If you’re done lecturing me, Dorothea, I believe Bernie’s waiting for you. We’ve been friends for some time, now, just like the two of you. I already know these things.”   
  
“Fine. I have nothing else to say, anyway.” She drops her arms and takes a moment to regain her composure. “Just be careful out there, will you?”   
  
“As careful as possible, I assure you.”   
  
And she leaves him to his thoughts.   
  
  
_ ‘People take this battle too seriously, I swear,’ _ he tells himself, watching his classmates gather in organized groups across the board. Some determined, some apprehensive, some both. There’s a weight on his chest that reminds him he shares their fear. The last thing he wants are nasty stains on his uniform. And perhaps…    
  
_ ‘Though I guess you do as well, huh… Dimitri.’  _ Linhardt can’t see him from where he is, but the prince reaches him regardless. In his ghostly shape, he pleads to be let in. The scholar has never been so afraid.   
  
_ ‘But what am I afraid of? Why do I keep running away?’ _   
  
Questions he asks that he can’t quite answer. The wind howls, agitating the long grass that rests on this field. A shiver runs down his spine.   
  
_ ‘Ugh, I’m an idiot. Whatever happened to ‘do what makes you happy’, huh? Let’s get this over with. And if I come face to face with him, so be it.’ _   
  
Right when he’s ready to get into formation, the horns ring throughout the area, announcing the start of the event as he rushes to his place.   
  


* * *

  
From one moment to the next, Gronder Field becomes more than chaotic. Regiments fall left and right at the might of elites, strategies unfold, and the Blue Lions currently scrape up the upper hand - leaving the Golden Deer scattered and the Black Eagles struggling. Edelgard herself had admitted The Ashen Demon’s strength was never to be underestimated before the battle began, and now they were occupied with cleaving through the Golden Deer’s forces with ease.  
  
Dimitri and Dedue lead the front lines. Bernadetta was caught in the skirmish for the main fort and had to fall back. Things look bleak, but at least Linhardt’s still standing.  
  
“Linhardt! Cover me, I’m cutting through!” Caspar yells, striding forward into the fray.  
  
“By the Godde- Caspar!” This is a terrible idea, but leaving him out there will be worse. He keeps a safe distance so as not to get caught in the sea of students, healing some of them as he traverses. “What part of ‘Move carefully’ didn’t you understand?”  
  
“The _‘carefully’_ part, dude! We’re **losing** \- time for Caspar to save the day! HURRRAAHH!” With all his might, the boy readies his gauntlets and charges to face Dedue. Dimitri collides lances with another student beside them. Linhardt feels his heart beat faster, pounding incessantly, the rate skyrocketing from one second to the next.  
  
It’s all happening so fast that Linhardt forgets to breathe. Dedue and Caspar are evenly matched, for a minute. Then the taller man readies his axe for a heavier swing, breaking through Caspar’s guard - the blade sinking through his shoulder as he screams in pain, kicking Dedue out of reach with the strength he has left.   
  
**“Caspar!”** Without thinking Linhardt breaks through the formation he was in and steps forward to heal him, but before he can-  
  
“So we meet here.”   
  
An imposing voice carries the lance that shoves him away from reach. It’s Dimitri. Linhardt’s figure buries itself on the ground, and all he can see is a blurred Caspar falling back as Dedue continues to break through the Eagles’ line of defence.  
  
Dimitri strides towards him. Goddess, he’s so weak he can barely get up. He commands his limbs to sit, then crouch, assessing what they’re capable of. At least Caspar seems stable for now, if he was still able to run. But the fact brings him no tranquility.  
  
The prince closes in on Linhardt, taunting him with the tip of his lance as he swings it to rest beneath the scholar’s chin. He falls on his back immediately, unable to outmaneuver his opponent’s dexterity. Even against the bright blue sky, Dimitri looks… so menacing. As if a fiend had taken over him.  
  
“It seems fate has led us to this moment,” Dimitri stops moving. His voice is an octave lower.  
  
“Do you truly believe that, Dimitri? Really, now.” Linhardt rolls his eyes - he reminds himself of Dimitri’s goals, and how his own are far apart. What did it matter, if they met here? “A part of you must’ve been thrilled to reach me. Disabling the healer is a sound strategy, after all.”  
  
“Don’t struggle...” He takes a step forward and plants a foot on Linhardt’s midsection, so heavily it prevents him from moving. “...I’ll make sure you don’t run from me this time.”  
  
“Dimitri…?” His mind goes blank as he speaks his name, faintly. Panic floods his system.  
  
A swing, and another, form an X. They evade Linhardt’s head, leaving two dents on each side of his collarbones. He lets out a howling scream.  
  
 _‘What… why...?’_ This could not be Dimitri standing before him. Inflicting pain despite holding Linhardt in his hand, perfectly still and defenseless - this wasn’t like him. Confusion and pain fought for territory in his nerves.  
  
The prince only stops to stare at him and his miserable expression. He can’t see his sky-blue eyes from here. At the very least, this gives the scholar time to think. Dimitri readies a third swing…  
  
...and Linhardt traps the leg under him with his two, throwing the prince off balance for just enough time to break free of his hold. The lance swings just short of his head as Linhardt propels himself back with a spell.  
  
“Care to explain later, Dimitri?! I don’t appreciate ominous markings. Not to mention _nearly dying._ ”  
  
“All I wanted was to speak with you… And for you to fall back.” Slowly Dimitri’s voice returns to its normal pitch, though it is so serious and restrained it still concerns him.  
  
“You don’t need to tell me twice! Caspar needs my help, anyhow.” Linhardt laughs it all off, somewhat nervously. He rises to his feet and sighs. “And… I’m sorry. For avoiding you. I hope I’ll get to explain myself later. In the meantime, try not to do... _that,_ to anyone else, would you? Please?”  
  
“I’ll be waiting, Linhardt.” He lowers his face and his golden strands cover his expression. Are those… tears, trailing down his face? Couldn’t be.  
  
Linhardt flees before even considering coming any closer, lest the rest of the Blue Lions overrun him. He can’t get Dimitri out of his head, but this time it isn’t infatuation that prevents him from doing so. It’s fear. Unflinching, dreading terror of what he had just witnessed.  
  


* * *

  
This is it. The Black Eagles’ final stand. Hubert’s rendered defenseless at Dedue’s mighty axe as Dimitri reaches Edelgard’s position. She doesn’t flinch from her battle stance, wielding axe and shield, side by side.   
  
“Finally, it ends.” The prince lets out. “It is time to cross blades.”   
  
“If you wished to fight me before, all you had to do was ask, Dimitri.” Her tone is resolute as always.   
  
“Heavens, no! I never imagined this would happen.” He clears his throat, searching for composure. “Your forces have been seized. It is a perfectly reasonable time to surrender.”   
  
“That is simply not an option. Face me, and claim your victory by your own hands,” she beckons him to action. “Or can you not stomach striking me down?”   
  
He can’t help but flinch at this. “The mere thought troubles me at best… please, you have already lost. What reason do you have to keep fighting?”   
  
“That is for me to decide. Do you need a moment to prepare yourself? I won’t hold back.”   
  
“No. I’ll finish this.” He releases a dissatisfied groan, steadies his breathing, and charges forward.  **“You’ll see what I’m capable of.”** There’s a glint in his eye as the words croak through the field. **  
**   
Axe and lance clash back to back, making bloodied messes of the two. He stabs her shoulder, she cleaves the side of his thigh, it all dents against their armour and somehow the blows find their way between its cracks, sometimes carving them altogether. They form a dance of equals that is somewhat of a spectacle, perhaps, to an outsider, yet distressing to Her Majesty and dreadful to our prince. Eventually, Dimitri is too fast for her to keep up with the amount of armour she has equipped, and she falls to his blows.   
  
  
Victory, at last. Though it feels so bleak.   
  
  
Only now, when the fighting’s over, does Dimitri fully regain his senses. He sees his uniform stained in red, Edelgard before him, defenseless, and figures he’s dreaming. This is some sort of unreachable, unimaginable reality - another one of his nightmares. Was she to become another one of his ghosts, here and now?   
  
When did he become so violent? Capable of doing  _ this _ to someone? Capable of striking his greatest old friend?   
  
Edelgard doesn’t see what he sees - doesn’t see his blank eyes and trembling hands. Or perhaps she does and decides to leave despite them. Because of them.   
  
“Congratulations, Dimitri.” Simply she smiles. “You have bested me. Only time will tell who will win next time, but I will prepare myself for everything. Will you?”   
  
He doesn’t hear her. Just when he was regaining his footing, all the lights began to fade one by one. He falls to his knees, his body limp as it buries itself in the grass and dirt of Gronder Field.   
  
“Dimitri…?”   
  
She stands up, and can only watch as Dedue rushes to his side and carries him to the infirmary.   
  


* * *

  
The Blue Lions were declared the victors of this year’s battle, though not without struggle. Felix was suddenly appointed Dimitri’s substitute for class representative in his absence and wasn’t the least bit happy about it -  _ ‘Couldn’t they have picked someone more suitable like Annette or Sylvain?!’ _ , he thought, when in fact those two were responsible for his temporary position. He stood beside Byleth like a sore thumb and let them do most of the talking at the ceremony and celebration that followed.   
  
Things are much different at the infirmary. When Linhardt arrived, there were very few students, and Manuela made quick work of his and Caspar’s wounds. Now, there weren’t enough beds for all of the injured, and the professor circled the room tirelessly so as to reach as many as she could. Linhardt saw the agony on her face too plainly for his liking - it forced him to lend a hand. He could stand and he could heal; and an extra healer really begins to make a difference after a while.   
  
Enter Dimitri, limp in Dedue’s arms, clothes torn in shreds and muscles aching from unrest.   
  
“Oh, Goddess- you, can you stand?!” Manuela points to a bedridden student who nods and awkwardly gets on their feet. “We’ve got a bad, bad case over here… Quick, let him down - gently.” She instructs Dedue after running her hands through the sheets, straightening them in a flash and placing an extra layer. The prince is let down on it.   
  
“So many wounds… most look to be superficial, though. Would you help me clean him up, my dear?” She asks Dedue, who simply nods and immediately sits beside the bed, ready to help. They make quick work of identifying the cuts, Manuela healing the flesh as Dedue cleans it.   
  
Linhardt sees this unfold, of course. Sees his lover’s body on the verge of death. Struggles to find room to breathe at the sight of his dried blue blood. All he wants to do is rush to Dimitri’s aid, but then a student pleads him for help, and another, and another; suddenly his hands are full and he figures, if Manuela is giving Dimitri her undivided attention, he would prove to be more useful to her if he stayed the course. With that, he continues to make her rounds for her. Time passes and it feels like days; so easily he mistakes days for hours.   
  
  
It’s a small room - hard not to overhear things. Our scholar regains some hope when Manuela finally steps back from Dimitri’s bed.   
  
“He should be in a stable condition now. He’ll wake up soon, but it’s best to give him the rest of the day to heal.” Dedue nods in understanding and stands up, giving his prince a concerned look.  _ “What were you thinking, kid?” _ She mutters under her breath, sighing and rising to her feet.   
  
“Thank you for all you’ve done, Professor Manuela.”   
  
She can’t put what she’s feeling into words - this phantom grief for someone who’s still alive. Only a huff comes out. Dedue takes this queue to excuse himself. Manuela just stands there, for a moment, examining Dimitri’s state. It’s not a miracle that he’s alive or anything - she knew he would make it. The doubt that lingers is... who’s to say if he would make it next time?   
  
Linhardt figures it’s alright to approach them now.   
  
“Professor. Anything I can help with over here?”   
  
“Oh,” She’s startled by his presence but quickly regains her focus. “See if you can find some spare robes in that cabinet for him, would you? I’ll go check on the other students.”   
  
“You got it.” He immediately moves towards where he’s told and rummages through piles of cloth.   
  
“Thank you for your help, dear. I mean it.” And she leaves Linhardt to his task before he can mutter a  _ ‘it’s no problem’. _ _   
_ _   
_   
Even after he’s been cleaned and bandaged, Dimitri’s hard to look at. Linhardt approaches him with a set of clean clothes and rests them by the bedside table, sitting where Dedue previously sat.   
  
“I’m guessing Her Majesty put up a hard fight…” he mutters to himself, twiddling his thumbs. A part of him wants to look away and to leave, and another can’t take his eyes off of him.    
What had made him stab Linhardt so violently? The scholar never thought that would be his punishment for the distance… Or that such a fate would be delivered by Dimitri himself. He was just as scared of coming closer as he was before, only now there was the threat of physical harm he couldn’t deny. How could he possibly explain how he felt? Would Dimitri listen? He said he would… but in Linhardt’s conscious the uncertainty remained.   
  
The guilt comes crashing down all at once, oh so heavy on his boney shoulders. Could it be he led Dimitri to this ungodly state by denying him a moment’s refuge? It felt as such when he looked at him. He slept peacefully now, but would that last?   
  
So many questions flood his mind, now more than ever before despite days and nights of research blending together. They all seem so pointless in this moment. All he wants to know is if, after denying his true feelings for Dimitri… he could be forgiven.   
  
“Look who’s waiting for who now, huh? Good riddance.” He lowers his head, placing a hand on his head to support it. “If this is what happens to you when you’re in a mock battle, I can’t even imagine how you’d end up in a proper one…”   
  
Dimitri doesn’t stir, just lets out a hazy breath. He snores, too. How cute.   
  
_ “You… absolute idiot, you…!” _ Even Linhardt is unsure if he’s directing this to him or Dimitri, but he keeps cursing under his breath.  _ “Piece of… Bloody little… Ugh, I can’t even-” _ He breathes in, and finally spits it all out. “ **I’m sorry,** okay? I couldn’t possibly be upset at you. It was childish of me to ignore you, I fucked up, its my fault and I needed some time to admit that-”   
  
“...Linhardt?” Slowly Dimitri blinks away from sleep only to find a very, very upset boy. Linhardt simply raises his head and stops speaking, mouth still agape.   
  
“I… am glad to see you well.” Dimitri confesses, adjusting himself against the bed. “Even if the same cannot be said for me.”   
  
“Do you recall what happened?” Linhardt cuts to the most pressing question on his mind.   
  
“Yes…”    
  
  
An awkward silence falls between the two.   
  
  
“Why did you hurt m-”   
“I don’t know.” Dimitri replies, plainly. “In that moment, I was overcome by the most terrible thoughts and urges… and no matter what, I couldn’t deny them. I’m deeply sorry, Linhardt.”   
  
  
“That’s… concerning at best…” Linhardt’s expression grimaces. He’s never heard of anything like this before - then again, he’s never really looked into matters of the brain and how it works, or any magic that can affect it. “Something’s making you want to cut me. Unless you  _ do _ want to cut me...?”   
  
“What? Of course not!” The sudden strain on his voice grants him a cough. “Can you truly believe that I wish you any harm after… the time we’ve spent together?”   
  
“No… not really.” Linhardt timidly looks away from Dimitri’s bright blue eyes - they were too much. “Guess I’ll have to look into why this is happening to you, then.”   
  
“I- You would do that?” Dimitri is starting to lose his understanding of the boy before him. Eager to help in a moment, ruthlessly distant in the next. “Linhardt, why have you avoided me for so long? I don’t understand... I daresay we-”   
  
“I was afraid I had made a mistake.” Their eyes meet with a shocking intensity. “I thought I was stealing you from your  _ ‘princely life’ _ , I… Well, there were many reasons why I tried to justify this in my head and frankly, none of them make sense by themselves, so they must all be true to an extent. Which makes them irrelevant. You see, it might just be that I simply enjoy running away when things become serious! Haha...”   
  
Linhardt takes a deep breath. Dimitri just rests there, listening intently.   
  
“...You and I lead very different lives. The way we think and approach the world is radically different. I thought… I guess I thought this was too good to be true. Or that somehow I had coerced you into being okay with… certain things.” His throat feels so dry. It hurts to be vulnerable.   
  
Dimitri makes sure Linhardt has finished speaking before he answers.   
  
“I was afraid that I had hurt you, Linhardt, and pushed you away as a result.”   
  
_ “And how in Fódlan could you have possibly done that?”  _ His snark gets the better of him even if it’s in the lowest voice possible.   
  
“I suppose it was… by failing to make my feelings clear.” Dimitri extends a hand forward, the closest to Linhardt, and lowers his voice. “I felt so at peace with you, then. And I wish to experience that again… So please, my… My dear.”   
  
Somehow, Dimitri manages to embody the awkwardness of a teenager with the smoothness of an experienced lover all at once. Linhardt is _immediately_ swooned and lacking the words to match his.   
  
“Forget all that I represent. I feel you see me as who I am… what I believe in, and not what I’m meant to uphold.”   
  
Linhardt grabs his hand, clutching it tight as he rests his other hand on top of theirs. “Dimitri, please just say you want to court me - I've had enough of all this melodrama...”   
  
They share a laugh and just like that, their misunderstanding is but a thing of the past… And their future looks brighter than ever.


End file.
